A New Generation, A New War
by Jack Cross
Summary: James Hiller and his wife Sarah own a small newspaper in Baltimore, Maryland with their young son Tom as their journalist. But its 1814, and a British Invasion of the area is in full swing. Now, as the capital burns, the young writer will find love in an unexpected form.
1. Baltimore

__**I do not own Liberty's Kids, only a few people and concepts. Please review and let me know what you think.  
**

_Baltimore Gazette Printing Shop. Baltimore, Maryland. August 20, 1814. _

James Hillier arched his back and wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked over the freshly printed newspaper. Picking up the most recent copy of the paper, he looked it over and read the headlines.

"Don't you want to wait for the ink to dry?" asked his wife Sarah Phillips, or more appropriately, Sarah Hillier. James shrugged slightly.

"I'm just still having a hard time reading this," he said. Barely a year before, the headlines were reading about the Army's invasion of Canada. Now they read: Invasion! British Troops land in Maryland, soon to march on Washington.

"Well consider yourself lucky, if that boy was slow you wouldn't have a story before the British reached the outskirts of the capital," said Sarah as she sat and started to write, pulling her red hair behind her ears.

"He's seventeen though. Maybe it's time he found himself his own calling," said James. Sarah glanced up at him.

"Well, he's your son dear," she said. James crossed the room and sat just across from her.

"He's yours as well." From outside, the whining of a horse sounded as the rider drew up on the reigns. James groaned as he stood and walked back to the printer. The door of the shop burst open as Thomas Hillier rushed inside, taking off his hat and opening his satchel.

"Here's the report over the general feelings in Washington, Pa," he panted. His dust filled hair was a combination of his father blonde hair and his mother's red hair. However his ice blue eyes mirrored that of his father.

"Good, and what did I tell you about handling that horse?" asked James as he took his son's notes and flipped through them.

"Go easy on him," Tom sighed, his shoulders sinking slightly. James nodded as he sat the notes to the side and looked at his son.

"Get something to eat and get some rest. No doubt you'll be back in the saddle by the end of the week," he said.

"Pa, what with the British landing down south and everything, what if I run into a redcoat while I'm out riding?" Tom asked.

"Don't worry about that now, just go get some rest," James reassured before his son started up stairs. Even though he was a loyal American, Tom had no idea that he had been named after his mother's cousin, Tom Phillips, a British Regular who had died at the Battle of Concord. James sighed as he sat before his wife again.

"Did we do everything right? Coming here to Baltimore and such?" he asked. Sarah sat her writings to the side and placed her hands on top of her husband's.

"We have a busy shop, a successful newspaper, and a beautiful hardworking son. Yes James, I believe we did everything right," she said, attempting to reassure him. James glanced at the newspapers again, ice coating the pit of his stomach. For nearly thirty years, he had hoped that he would never have to see British Troops in American cities ever again. But here he was, printing a story about the invasion. James had heard the stories coming from the Canadian front, and though he didn't dare speak it out loud for fear of worrying Sarah, he felt that the British were soon to burn Washington as revenge. With another sigh, he stood and went back to work.

"This war could put us out of business if the British march on Baltimore," said Sarah.

"It's not just the business we have to worry about. If we loose this war, Tom may have to spend his life as a British subject," said James as he picked up a stack of papers and moved them.

"One little occupation is nothing. Its wont be the first time the capital has been occupied," said Tom as he descended the stairs.

"Watch what you say boy, you've never had the opportunity to live in a city occupied by the British," said James, a slight bitterness in his voice. Tom apologized before asking for his next assignment.

"Are you sure that your rested up enough for it?" asked James.

"I've gotten something to eat and I'm ready to ride," replied Tom. James sighed as he looked over the printer.

"I want you to ride south of Washington and cover the evacuation of the area, and if, if, the British start to march on the city, ride back here as fast as possible. Understand?"

"Yes Pa." Tom shook his father's hand before he hugged his mother. They watched as he walked outside, mounted his brown horse, and trotted up the street before disappearing around a corner.

"Do you think he'll stay away from the fight?" asked Sarah.

"I don't know. He's got both the blood of the Hilliers and Phillips flowing through his veins, and neither one of us has shied away from a fight. I just don't want him to experience his baptism of fire at the age we did," he answered. They turned and walked back into the shop, a sinking feeling in their stomachs.

"I'm glad Doctor Franklin isn't here to see this," said James as he closed the door.

"I thought you missed him," said Sarah, a little shocked at James, as it was the first time he had spoken of his deceased mentor in years.

"I do, but if he was here, his heart would break if he saw what was happening to the country," came the reply.

_Main Road between Baltimore and Washington. _

Tom brought his horse to a halt on a hill overlooking the city. The horse stamped its hoofs as it turned slightly. From here, he could see the city, the harbor, and the bay, even Fort McHenry. It was a sight he looked forward too when ever he returned to the city. Turning the horse again, he dug the heels of his boots into the horse's flanks. With a whiney, the horse reared up slightly and galloped down the road.

Pulling his hat down lower onto his head, Tom lowered himself in the saddle to better adjust to the horse's high rate of speed. He ignored the banging on his thigh were the pistol he had stolen out of his father's cabinet sat. The clatter of hooves banging on the partially paved road filled his ears as he galloped up the road. At this speed, it would only be a matter of time before he arrived at the capital.

Although he wouldn't admit it around his parents, Tom was kind of exited about the war. He knew that both of his parents had reported on the Revolutionary War, but he had never heard their stories, as neither one wanted to talk about their experiences. That was why he had volunteered to be a journalist in the family shop, so he could experience his generation's war like his parents had.

But he had no idea of what he was riding into. He had no idea about the horrors of war itself.


	2. The Deserter

__**As always, please review and let me know what you think.  
**

_Just South of Washington D.C. August 21, 1814. _

Tom sat on his horse and quickly wrote on his pad as he watched the stream of refugees pass by on the road. He had spent the past twenty-four hours in the saddle, trying to get here and cover the news in the area. The max he had to eat was a few chunks of hard bread and some cheese. With the British approaching from the south, just about everyone in the path of the soldiers had packed up and started to flee. Even the people in the city had begun to express panic.

Turning his horse slightly, Tom began to trot down a small horse trail that led off the road. He placed the writings back in his pack as ducked underneath tree branches. Soon he found himself in a clearing, the sounds of the road long gone. A figure suddenly darted out in front of the horse, causing it to whinny and rear up on its rear legs.

"Whoa! Easy!" Tom shouted as he gripped the reigns. The horse straightened itself out and stamped its hooves on the packed dirt of the path. Looking up, Tom found himself face to face with a young man, not much older then himself, in a blood red uniform. Despite his initial panic, he forced himself to remain calm and study the soldier. The first thing he noticed was that the soldier was weaponless and his hands were in the air.

"I surrender, please don't hurt me!" said the soldier. Tom reached forward and rubbed the side of his horse's neck, calming the large animal.

"Shouldn't I be the one surrendering?" he asked, slightly confused. But the panicked look didn't leave the soldier's face.

"You're not going to hurt me?"

"With what?" The soldier's face relaxed slightly, but his hands remained in the air.

"Oh put your hands down, you look like a fool," said Tom as tightened his grip on the reigns. The soldier lowered his hands and shuffled his feet. His brown hair was mixed with dirt and his Busby hat was missing, as was his knapsack, bayonet, and canteen.

"Little far from the army aren't you?" Tom asked.

"I'm not with the army. I'm not with anyone," came the reply. Tom leaned forward, now a little more interested.

"You're a deserter," he said.

"And what are you? A scout?" asked the soldier. Tom shook his head.

"I'm a journalist, covering the panic the British are causing in and around the capital."

"Oh, don't worry, the main column is still about a three days march from the city," said the soldier. Tom looked around the clearing they were in, looking for signs of any other human presence. But as far as he could tell, they were totally alone.

"Listen, I signed up to fight against Napoleon. But the crown won't let my service papers run out, so I'm jumping ship wherever I can," said the soldier. Tom sighed and ran the back of his hand across his forehead.

"Let me guess, you want my help to get out of the path of your former comrades," he said.

"You could say that," came the reply. Tom sat back and shifted slightly.

"All right fine, but I'm not doing this for free," he said. The soldier shrugged as if payment wasn't an issue.

"Ditch the red coat, people see that and you're going to be hanging from a tree branch faster then a squirrel," said Tom as he reagusted the reigns. The soldier quickly stripped off the red uniform and hurried to climb onto the back of the horse. Digging his heels into the flanks of the horse again, Tom held on as the horse trotted up the trail again. Bringing the horse to a halt on a bluff overlooking the Potomac, Tom brought out a spyglass and studied the landscape around them.

"So you got a name?" he asked.

"Henry Lincoln, you?"

"Thomas Hillier." Tom tucked the spyglass back into his pack as he turned the horse and began to make their way east, following the river.

"Wait, are you crazy? The Regulars are this way," said Henry, pressing against his back in an attempt to grab the reigns. In the split second that this happened, Tom swore that he felt something press into his back that was not apart of the male anatomy.

"I'm just trying to make our way back to the road," he said, holding the reigns out of Henry's reach. The horse trotted through the woods and slowly turned south, following the river. Turning east again, they emerged from the tree line onto the road. Looking around, Tom nudged the horse forward off the road and dismounted.

"Something wrong?"

"I've been riding for nearly a whole day, its time to give the horse some rest," said Tom as he started to undo the cinch on his saddle. Henry swung his leg over the saddle and slid off the horse's back. Tom took the saddle off after he hitched the horse before he opened the saddlebag. Pulling out a set of trousers and a shirt, he tossed them to Henry.

"Get changed, best you look like a legitimate civilian." Henry turned slightly and started to strip off his shirt. Glancing up, Tom saw the wrappings around Henry's back.

"I thought so," he said. Henry snapped around, holding the shirt up as a cover.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll ask the questions. Now, what is a young woman doing in the British Regulars?" asked Tom. Henry sighed and quickly put on the shirt.

"You going to turn me in?" she asked as she sat on a stump. Tom patted the horse on the neck.

"You're a deserter of the British Army and a woman on top of that, like it or not we're stuck with each other," he said. She sighed and went behind a tree in order to change again. When she reemerged, Tom had a small fire going and he knelt beside it.

"So what's your real name?" he asked. She made her way over and knelt beside the fire as well.

"Joan Lincoln," she said, "Henry was my brother and no one bothered to double check on the name." Tom rocked on his heels as he looked up through the trees at the fading light in the sky.

"Well Joan, we're in a whole heap of trouble." Joan ran her fingers through her short hair. Now that she had ditched the uniform and chest raps, her body looked more like a woman's. Tom did his best not to look at her, as his mind still viewed her as a deserting soldier.

"Do you at least have a plan?" she asked. Now that she had dropped the soldier disguise, her voice sounded higher pitched and much more like a woman's.

"We need to get out of the path of the Brits. I'm going back up to Baltimore, I suppose you can ride along with me if you want," he answered. Joan lowered her gaze and looked into the orange flicker of the flames.

"How did you manage to figure out I was a woman? I mean I've been with the army for almost a year and none of them managed to deduce it, but you, you figured it out in a few hours," she said. By now, almost total night had set in. Tom hugged his knees to his chest and gazed into the fire, using the eerie orange light to hide the fact that he was blushing.

"It was when we were up on the bluff and you where trying to get a hold of the reigns. I felt your b.. chest press into my back," he explained. Tom never would have suspected it, but Joan was blushing as well. Pulling out his father's pistol, he bid Joan goodnight and leaned back, using his saddle as a pillow. Joan continued to stare at the dying fire, while Tom gazed up the stars overhead.

"I wonder if ma and pa had moments like these," he whispered to himself.


	3. Akward Moments

__**As always, please review and let me know what you think.  
**

_August 23, 1814. Just East of Washington. _

"Look at that," said Tom as he looked through his spyglass. They sat above the nearly deserted city, only about a mile way. Joan looked over her shoulder, in the direction that the British were approaching from. They had two horses rather then one now, with Joan riding bareback, as they had found hers along the road.

"The Regulars are a days march from here, its really no surprise that its as empty as it is," she said. Tom lowered the spyglass, brought out his pad and began to write in a hurried motion. Reaching out with her hand, Joan took the spyglass and began to study the city herself. She quickly tapped Tom and pointed to a street near the outskirts of the city while handing him the spyglass.

"That small group down there, you recognize any of them?" she asked. Tom took the spyglass and looked where she was pointing.

"It's President Madison, looks like he's trying to rally the city's defenses," he said. Joan shifted slightly, adjusting the shirt she wore. The past two days of being almost constantly in the saddle had left them barely anytime to change clothes, much less bathe.

"Are you going to interview him?" she asked. Tom shook his head as he collapsed the spyglass with the palm of his hand.

"Already done that. I'd say we got enough for an article anyway," he answered before he turned his horse away from the scene overlooking the capital. Joan quickly followed as they began to ride in the direction of Baltimore, and safety. The hours seemed to pass quickly as they traveled up a lesser-used road. In all that time, they never saw a single other soul.

Finally, Tom led the way off the road and into a wooded area surrounding a small creek. Dismounting, he squatted for a moment with a grimace, trying to provide some relief to the cramps that lined the inside of his thighs.

"You got cramps?" Joan asked, smothering a laugh.

"Been in the saddle longer then you, soldier girl," came the reply as he stood up straight and began pull the saddle off of his horse. Chuckling, Joan gathered up a new set of clothes and disappeared into the foliage on the edge of camp. Setting the saddle to the side, Tom built a small fire and brought out a small pot from his saddlebag.

Walking into the foliage, he picked his way past branches and thorns before he walked out into the creek bed. Keeping his boots out of the water, he knelt and sloshed some water around in the pot before filling it up as much as he could. Standing again, Tom froze when he caught sight of something that made him both blush and turn his stomach to ice.

Joan was in a pool of water not that far downstream from where he stood now. She was standing in waist deep water while washing the shirt she had worn that day, giving Tom a clear view of her bare back. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he quickly averted his eyes and hurried back to camp to get the water boiling. After a short time, Joan returned, with her hair still damp.

"Supper time," Tom said quietly, handing her a bowl of the soup. She thanked him before sitting across the fire from him. Even as he ate, he still found himself thinking of the sight. And each time he tried with absolute failure to banish the sight from his mind.

"Are you okay? You've hardly touched your soup," said Joan, concern in her voice.

"Huh? Oh, yeah I'm fine," came Tom's stammered reply. This earned a laugh from Joan.

"What's the matter? Did you see something while you were getting water?" she asked. Tom thanked God for the fire's light, cause his face went beat red.

"No, no," he stammered slightly. Joan giggled slightly as she stood and sat her empty bowl to the side. She rounded the fire and bent down next to Tom.

"Oh, you saw something, I can see it in your eyes," she whispered. But Tom shook his head, keeping to his guts about this one.

"Very well, goodnight Mr. Hiller," she said before she kissed his cheek and went to lie down. Tom sighed as he sat his bowl to the side and added a few sticks to the fire. He pulled out his father's pistol and double-checked the powder in the firing pan. Then he looked across the fire at Joan.

"Bloody tease," he muttered before he slid back from the fire and lay down with his head on the saddle. The twinkle of the stars above offered reassurance to him. But something bothered him, like that tomorrow would bring some events that he would never forget.


	4. Bladensburg

__**As always, please review and let me know what you think.  
**

_Near Bladensburg, Maryland. August 24, 1814._

Tom pulled out his spyglass and studied the lines of infantry below. The red tide of British Regulars marched down the road, heading for the capital. Turning slightly, he caught sight of the Americans. Their numbers composed mainly of militia. They were much closer to them then the British, and were separated by a branch of the Potomac.

"My God," he said as he snapped the spyglass closed. Joan watched him as he turned his horse and started to gallop. She followed as he dug his heels into the horse's flank again and again, attempting to reach the Americans. General Winder sat on his horse behind the Americans as Tom galloped into the area.

"Sir! You cannot let your men run under any circumstances, they must hold to the last!" he shouted over the commotion.

"Not to worry, dear boy, we'll beet 'um," came the General's reply. Tom's horse, wound up by the hurried gallop, turned on the spot a few times, its hooves stomping on the ground. Joan trotted up next to him and looked around.

"These boys are up against some of the most experienced soldiers in the world, do you think they can hold out against them?" she asked. Tom looked up at the soldiers and militia above them on the ridge.

"They did it once, they'll have to do it again," he said. Turning their horses, they rode out of the camp and headed up the road, away from the upcoming fight. The thunder of cannon fire suddenly filled the air, causing the horses to began bounce and whinny with nervousness.

Joan's horse suddenly reared up on its hind legs, causing her to fall back off of it. Stamping its hooves into the road, the saddle less horse bolted down the road and across a field, heading for a nearby tree line. Patting his horse on the neck, Tom turned his and rode back up to her.

"You all right?" he asked, keeping low in the saddle as he looked down at her.

"Busted my rear is all," she said as she stood and looked back up the road. The American artillery had begun to fire with the General watching over them. Soon the sound of musket fire sounded to the south. Reaching out his hand, Tom helped her onto the horse behind him before he dug his heels into the horse's flank again. They galloped up the road, trying to get out of the path of the oncoming enemy. It wasn't long before they passed the northern edge of the American lines.

Tom drew his father's pistol and leaned lower into the saddle as a uniformed British scout stepped onto the road. He turned and took notice of the charging horse and riders. Thumbing the hammer on his Baker Rifle, he hoisted it to his shoulder and took aim. But Tom fired first, drilling the soldier in the middle of his forehead. He jerked back slightly, causing his hat to fall from his head and rifle to fall to the ground.

Bringing the horse to a halt, Joan jumped down and grabbed the soldier's rifle and ammo pouch. But Tom sat and looked on at the slain soldier with a look of horror in his eyes. Disbelief, shock, and horror filled him as it took root that he had killed another human being.

"Come on, let's go," she said as she climbed back up behind him. Still, he looked down at body. She jabbed him in the kidney with two of her fingers, snapping him out of the trance. They rode up onto a nearby hill and looked down at the battle below. Tom swallowed a lump in his throat as he saw the militia lines turn and run while the American soldiers were overrun. The whole thing was over in an hour as the militia ran all the way back to Washington.

Shaking his head, he turned the horse away from the doomed city and began to ride in the direction of Baltimore. For several hours they rode before they finally came to a halt. Storm clouds were gathering in the sky, lightning flashed through the clouds as they approached a barn to say the night. An orange glow reflected off of the clouds as the capital was set fire to.

While Tom unsaddled the horse and led it into the barn, Joan kept her rifle at the ready as she watched the road in the direction of the capital.

"All set," he said, holding the door to the barn open. Raindrops began to fall in a pelting motion, causing clouds of dust to spring up as they made contact with the dirt around the barn. Joan turned and ran into the barn, using her hand to cover the powder pan on the rifle while she did so. Pulling tightly, Tom brought the door closed and dropped a latch into place.

"How was it, killing someone?" Joan asked Tom walked back over to the horse.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said as he started to brush the horse. Joan looked over the rifle as she sat in a pile of hay.

"You haven't been in the middle of the fray, watching your friends die," she said. Tom shot a glance at his newfound friend before he sat the brush to the side and walked over to the ammo pouch. Reaching in, he pulled out a paper rapping with the powder and ball inside before he climbed the ladder to the hayloft.

As he sat in a pile of hay and started to reload the pistol, lightning flashed, sending blue white light trough the cracks on the barn's wall. After cocking the pistol slightly, he leaned back into the loft and stared at the ceiling. The wind howled and the boards creaked as the barn shifted slightly.

But sleep only brought nightmares, as images from that day's battle still retained in his mind's eye.


End file.
